Begin Anew
by RobinOfCoxly
Summary: After Meeting his sister, problems arose between himself and John. The doctor distance himself, the memories of his loving wife weighing heavy and driving tension between himself and his best friend. Now, after six months of not speaking, Sherlock has condemned himself to his one person living again. Until someone familiar comes to the door, asking for help.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

The morning of the particular morning these words hope to describe began as any other. That is to say, the sun rose to warm the chilly concrete. People began rolling away from their spouses and empty sheets upon the command of a chirping alarm. Flowers craned towards the sky, shop doors opened, and the streets slowly bustled to life just as the everyday rushing would insist they do. To reiterate, the morning was unquestionably normal and average. If there was a tightness of air, a subtle fluttering in the stomach, maybe even the whisper of hair standing up on the back of one's neck, it was entirely unnoticed. The typical premonition of the eventually extraordinary was unsung and wistlessly ignored.

As a tribute to the boringly normal morning, Sherlock Holmes stood himself by the countertop in the kitchen doing things that anyone else would, without a second thought, consider wholy abnormal. Tweezers grazed the bony and decaying features of a decapitated skull. Under the ragged flesh of the throat and neck, Sherlock had mindfully placed a large, decorative plate. Despite his attempt at containing the mess of experimentation, one could very seriously introduce a bomb to the flat and change little to nothing. Papers strewn over tables and carpet, blankets draped haphazardly over the chairs in the front room. Nothing that had a place currently resided within that area. Sherlock paid no mind, as he hadn't spend much time within the flat as of late. As always, a case piqued his interest and dragged him away for quite some time. He'd been solving more online cases over the phone as well, and seldom sought out an in-person visit.

When Sherlock was finally satisfied with his inexplicable experiment, the faucet in the sink was flipped on and the man ran his tools underneath the chilly water for a moment or two. After being rinsed, he dropped them into the dish drainer and wiped his hands dry on a towel hanging off the oven's handle. Just as he'd intended, it was twenty-three minutes to ten, just perfect to get himself dressed out of pajamas and get to the station as he'd told Lestrade. Set in his mind, the slender man swept his dressing gown up and turned out of the kitchen towards his bedroom to properly get ready.

Over the two years, the flat had gone somewhat quiet. Not to say that noise was exceptionally loud previously, but the quiet from before had been… different. Some touch of warmth carried the air, just knowing that there was, in fact, someone else in the flat. Even when Sherlock wasn't too mindful of the fact that John puttered around picking up or cooking, he was still very much aware of his presence. Now, there was no quiet clicking of porcelain bowls as John washed, dried, and put away dinner things. No distant chuckle when he saw something he found amusing online. No tapping of computer keys to the beat of his thoughts, printing out each letter with such a slowness that Sherlock wondered how he managed to finish any blog article.

For some time, Sherlock had realized these listless sounds were gone for an entirely different reason, as he had gone away for a month to a new area. He worked on a case while detoxing, as John insisted that if he didn't do some form of rehabilitation, he would not be graced with his visits any longer. The day following that demand, Sherlock was fanning through distant files and found a facility to room under while he was gone. He found the killer, and cursed himself for accompanying the case with a detox because it was incredibly easy in the end, he just needed a clear mindset.

Now clean, John did visit Sherlock. It was only for a short time if he brought Rosy, and even shorter if they went for dinner or the pub. John still struggled to look at him and, as ignorant as Sherlock could be, each dropped gaze was felt with every piece of his being. He wouldn't argue the quick departures. He had done something he was unable to take back. John needed time to process Mary, care for the baby, exist for a while without the chaos that Sherlock brought. Sherlock was impatient, but his frustration had not yet bothered either of them.

His work, however, had suffered somewhat after the puzzling time with his sister, John, and Mycroft. The call to Molly was not well received, to say the least. Molly avoided him if she could, and if not, she was cold and shunning towards her former love interest. Sherlock didn't press, and kept his head down. It seemed these days he had more than a few people who were not pleased with his company. Nevertheless, he continued to pursue cases for Lestrade and try to do what was asked of him and avoid fighting with John. In short, Nothing incredibly interesting happened in the last two years. Something like a record for the Holmes man, but he did not enjoy this fact in the least.

While he didn't like the flat so quiet, so empty, Sherlock continued to go on. He had given up his hope for having John move in again. He took what communication he could get and didn't press for more, fearing the consequences if he dared step a toe over some unspoken boundaries. He left himself at John's mercy, so to speak, to continue the relationship. And considering he hadn't heard from John in over six months, he could only assume his choice.

These recollections of the past many months crossed over Sherlock's mind while he buttoned the cuffs of his shirt and strolled out to the kitchen, jaw clenched. His shoes resounded against the tile floor as a quick, purposeful pace as he made his way to the door and lifted his coat from the hook on the back of the door.

It was that moment, the last two seconds before opening the door, that Sherlock brushed away the strange air that had suddenly overcome the room. Fingers grasping the doorknob, Holmes turned the handle and pulled the door inwards. Rather than taking a step forward into the hall and down the stairs, The detective was met with an unexpected sight.

John's eyes stood out against darkened, puffy circles. His expression opened into surprise, as he couldn't have expected Sherlock to be leaving at that very same time. In his arms was little Rosamund, cozied up with mittens and a puffy red coat. Her eyes were closed, breath steady and slow. What little hair she had was pulled into two pigtails, fastened with a purple and blue band. John's muted green coat and brown boots not only contrasted with his colorful daughter, but emphasized the severe lack of energy that emanated from the poor man.

The doctor's lips parted, and closed again. He had something to say, but rethought it. For the second time, he opened his mouth. Before he spoke, a small breath of air released, a sound that made John look all the more disbelieving. His expression steeled, mouth closing again. While Sherlock studied him, watching him struggle to speak, John's eyes finally lifted to meet the detectives gaze. This did made Sherlock tilt his head in the slightest, just waiting to be blamed or argued with about something.

Finally,"...Sherlock," His voice was low and hoarse,"I need help,"


	2. Chapter One

_Chapter One_

The words resonated inside Sherlock's ears for a moment, before he finally registered what was said.

"Help," Sherlock echoed,"Help- How? What's happened? I'm sure Mycroft would have told me if something was strange; who is it?"

John, a bit taken aback by the interrogation, shook his head,"No, Sherlock, not that sort of help, I meant- can I come in?"

Sherlock blinked,"Oh. Yes," He stepped back and opened the door further.

John said a quiet thank you and shifted Rosie on his arm gently. He had no cane but his steps were weary and he had a mild limp. On his back was slung a small bag, presumably filled with supplies for the little one. Sherlock hung his coat back up and gently shut the door, eyes never leaving the man he walked to his chair, set the bag down, and eased himself to sitting down. He hadn't been here in many months but Sherlock had always left his seat alone. His own chair had a box of miscellaneous files and papers sitting amongst a few baggies of evidence; something that probably should have been returned before now. Regardless, John's chair was empty and open. Waiting.

Sherlock, seeing John sitting among the mess of the flat, suddenly realized how disastrous the place looked, and tried futility to organize a single stack of papers.

"I've been busy for a while, not much time home," He said, a lame excuse.

"It's fine," John assured, though his tone was bland,"Sher, leave it. I just want to talk,"

Slim fingers stilling, the tall man turned the toe of his shoes towards the doctor.

"I'm not in trouble. Well, maybe I am. I'm not…" John's brow creased and his eyes finally fell away to the carpet,"Shite,"

His free hand lifted to rub at his face, then stalled and remained in front of his eyes. Sherlock took the moment he wasn't being watched to step across the rug towards his own chair. Toe to heel, slow movements, and he placed his hands on the back of the sleek black chair. While John looked like he was trying to breathe slowly and calm himself down, the arm he had wrapped around Rosie moved to tighten his grip even when his fingers shook. Seeing this, Sherlock lowered his chin, scanning over the man before him. He then stepped around the chair again, letting his steps sound so as not to startle the shaken up doctor.

"Give her to me," Sherlock requested, hands outstretched to take the little one.

John removed his hand from his face and turned to look up at him. Distrust was evident in the way he once again snaked his arm closer around his daughter. Sherlock ticked his fingers, not moving to take her, but reminding John his offer was genuine.

"You look like you could collapse," Sherlock stated, rather plainly,"Pardon if I'm mistaken, but I've heard brain damage is not good for a two year old,"

John's head dropped as he chuckled softly, closing his eyes,"No, I don't think it is," He cast another wary glance at Sherlock's hands, before lifting the little girl off his lap and offering her to the detective slowly.

Her nose crinkled at the loss of warmth, and Sherlock lifted her up to his chest, leaning his cheek overtop her forehead. Silence between both of them as Sherlock slowly soothed her back to a restful sleep. Her weight surprised him, he hadn't seen her in quite a while even before John stopped visiting. She was growing very fast, and Sherlock found that it felt rather nice to hold her again. After getting her fully settled, he returned his grey eyed gaze down to John again. The man's eyes were close to petrified behind his silent resolve, and Sherlock scoffed.

"John it may have been quite sometime since I've seen her, but simply holding her is a task I think I can manage," Sherlock reminded the worried father.

John nodded, a weak smile on his face,"I know… I know, just… nerves,"

"I see,"

Sherlock paced slightly with the little figure in his arms, his thumb rubbing against her back. Quiet was once again returning to the room, as neither spoke. But just as Sherlock had thought before, something about it was nicer than the quiet of his own footsteps, hearing his own breath and forgetting the outside world existed apart from a case. He felt like he was no longer drowned by silence every time he heard John shift in his chair, or when he heard Rosie snuffle and turn her head a bit against his chest.

John watched him for a few moments, too tired to see his thoughts about his presence,"You had your coat, Sher, when I walked in, if you need to go somewhere-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted, turning to give him a sideways glance,"I was just going to meet Lestrade,"

"For a case? Is it important?"

Now, Sherlock turned to look down at him with an unwavering insistence,"He can wait."

Now this seemed to surprise John, but Sherlock passed off his look and continued to tip his hips side to side, gently rocking himself and Rosie.

"Well, uh… okay then,"

Sherlock slowed his pacing as he stood in front of the man, breaking the silence following John's reply,"You said you needed help,"

When no reply came, Sherlock opened his eyes again and turned to look at the doctor.

His hair was washed and brushed, but remained slightly dishevelled due to cheap product, if any at all. He swallowed quite a few times, and faintly Sherlock could hear his stomach growl; He'd gone hungry for a little while. At the very least, today he hadn't eaten. In his arms, Rosamund was plump and healthy as ever, which probably meant he'd sacrificed to buy food for her, rather than himself. In fact, the contrast between the two of them was suddenly blaring.

Rosie looked as though she'd been living it up for some time now, a new coat on her shoulders, her hair soft and brushed back, cheeks rosy and clean. Even her little boots looked rather expensive, with soft fur at the tops and velcro on the sides. John, on the other hand, looked quite sad. He flexed his hands a few times now and then, but they continued to shake, his nails looking chewed down. His clothes were certainly presentable, nothing out of the normal for what he would typically wear, but the coats sleeves were torn in two places and a stain was on his jeans just under the knee. His shoes were just about worn through. Sherlock took a breath while he assessed these things and spoke.

"You're out of money,"

John shut his eyes; Sherlock was right. The Holmes man continued.

"You're having trouble caring for Rosamund,"

Lips pressed into a tight line, Watson shifted in his chair.

Sherlock tilted his head,"John?"

John sucked in a shuddering breath."I love her so much,"

His broken voice made Sherlock's blood run cold, his uncertainty for the situation disappearing into a cautious list of further questions.

Giving a soft sigh, John continued to explain himself,"I can't afford a daycare around here, Molly has a job to go to. I found work but it's not good. Mine and…" He shook his head to the side and skipped the name he didn't want to say,"It's got too many problems to keep up with I just…"

"It's… too much?" Sherlock interjected.

This time the laugh from John sounded watery,"Yeah. Thanks, yeah, that's it." Another deep breath,"I feel awful saying it but I never expected to do this… _alone_,"

Sherlock pursed his lips, feeling the silence more than he heard it.

"I don't know what I expect you to do about it, what you even _can _do," John shook his head,"I left, even, for however long we haven't seen each other. I don't even have the right to be here,"

"That's not true," Sherlock argued softly.

John sighed as he stood up."This was wrong of me, I should go," He offered his hands out to take Rosie.

Sherlock, startling the both of them, stepped quickly backwards and stated quite clearly,"_No_,"

John frowned,"Sher.."

Sherlock's brow knit together, frustrated,"No, John. You're not impeding anything, you have every right to be here," He watched John's hands drop away,"I left for over two years and you still invited me home eventually. You and Rosamund are always welcome here,"

John's eyes watched the man's face, moving across his features before moving away and looking to the side. "You don't need to do that,"

Sherlock frowned,"Do what?"

John waved a hand slightly,"Do this, deal with the sentimental things. I know you hate that,"

"I'm finding it to be less repulsive than I remember,"

Those words brought John's chin up, eyebrows raised. Sherlock held his eyes with a steely serious resilience.

"If you need help, I will help. You could move back here, I could get you your job back at the clinic. We'll both be here to watch Rosie,"

John frowned,"You have cases, there's no room for Rosie here, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a step forward, his stature and gaze intensely serious,"I've worked cases from home hundreds of times. I can find room for her. Give me some time."

"I can't just up and move, Sher, there's things to sort out-"

"Like what?"

John stammered,"LIke, packing! I do have a job back home, I have to talk to them as well. Set up change of address for her doctor's"

"I can help pack up," Sherlock reminded him,"Feel free to call and quit, and the change of address forms can be picked up on the way to Barts."

John stared at him, lips parted slightly,"There's… Sherlock I can't just jump in on you like that,"

"Why not?"

"It's rude!"

Sherlock grinned,"When have I been one to keep up with social niceties, John?"

The doctor stared at him for a good while, then he crossed his arms over his chest and looked to the side, his eyes flickering across the mantle as he thought it over. Sherlock's cheeky grin slowly dissipated.

"I know Mary is gone," Sherlock interjected quietly,"I know it was my fault, and I can't fix or change any of that," John's jaw clenched as he closed his eyes,"But I can help you."

"It's so much… it's _too_ much to ask of you," John shook his head stiffly.

"Within the week, John. I can have you and her set up well by the end of the week,"

John was quiet for a minute, then turned his head to look up at Sherlock,"You don't need to do this,"

"I know,"

"She gets fussy at night a lot, she yells when she can't do up her boots by herself," John tried to explain, looking down at his daughter rather than the man he was trying to warn,"She likes to get her hands on things she shouldn't have, she really has to be watched- Christ she's barely two,"

Sherlock straightened up, feeling the corner of his lip curl just the tiniest bit,"Go and lay down. She will be fine with me,"

"Everything I just said- are you listening?" John insisted, looking desperately tired.

"Yes, John,"

"And you- Just like that? Are you sure about this?" John asked, the hoarseness in his voice returning.

"I am,"

John's fingers clenched and relaxed, looking between Sherlock's face and his little girl, still leaning peacefully against the detective's chest. After a moment of final consideration, he nodded gently.

"Okay," He reached out to lay his hand on Rosie's head softly, brushing his thumb back across her temple,"Okay then. Thank you."

Sherlock gave a sharp nod,"Of course. Go sleep, we can talk later."

John looked as though he wanted to resist, but his body betrayed him with exhaustion, "Just an hour okay? Then come and wake me up, that's all I need."

Raising his chin, Sherlock inquired,"Have somewhere to be?"

John shook his head, eyes already drooping sleepily,"No, but she's a handful, you shouldn't have to put up with her for much longer than that."

Sherlock said nothing, and John cast a glance at his girl another moment before scratching the back of his head and shuffling upstairs to try and sleep.

* * *

John, for once, woke peacefully. He blinked a few times, and stretched with a quiet hum. Immediately, he remembered Rosie downstairs with Sherlock and began to ease out of bed. He glanced at the clock as he did, seeing the time and feeling much more awake suddenly. 6:32 pm. He shot out from under the comforter and raced down the stairs. When he threw open the door to 221B, his heart was still racing in his chest. However, the scene in front of him was pretty calm.

Sherlock was sitting cross legged on the floor, texting someone on his mobile while Rosie was using a spoon to scoop up rice out of a little dish with cut up pieces of broccoli and small pieces of chicken. It looked like take out food, and it certainly smelled it. THe rest of the flat looked significantly cleaner, papers organized away and a large bin full of red labelled evidence bags sitting beside the door to be hauled off. The mantle was dusted, the coffee table where Rosie was eating had been wiped off. Sherlock's sleeves were still rolled up, a hand towel tossed over his right shoulder. John was more than a little surprised.

Rosie turned her head to John and waved the spoon at him happily, flinging rice at the wall. Sherlock glanced back at it with a grimace and stood up to retrieve it, lest it be left there and stink.

"Sleep well?" Sherlock hummed.

"Good morning!" Rosie cheerfully called.

John smiled at his daughter,"Morning, sweetie; Sherlock I said to wake me up after an hour," He stepped over to the couch and sat down on Rosie's left side to watch her.

"Why? You had nowhere to be, I handled the little one," He said, picking the rice off the back of the couch to toss away.

"Yeah, but…"

"You're overthinking, John." Sherlock called as he entered the kitchen.

John was, to say the least, gobsmacked. Sherlock being so responsible was startling at minimum. Cleaning up, getting food, taking care of a fussy toddler. It was all rather domestic. To make his point further, Sherlock returned from the kitchen with a little take away box and set it down in front of John with a fork. He then returned to the couch and sat on the far right end to continue texting. The towel off his shoulder had been left in the kitchen.

"I was going to wake you at 7, you have an appointment at Barts for your job in an hour," Sherlock explained,"I'd say you ought to go home and change but the 'interview' is with Molly, so it ought not to matter."

John's fingers ran along the edge of the takeaway box, nearly lost for words."Sherlock, this is…"

Sherlock waved a hand before resuming his texting,"I know, not the most nutritional meal for her, but we haven't got much in the fridge. Shops tomorrow,"

John chuckled,"No, I was going to say this is very impressive,"

Sherlock's thumbs halted, he blinked once, and slowly resumed.

"Oh."

Another chuckle from John,"Sherlock, really, just…" He sighed with a smile,"Thank you."

Sherlock shifted on the couch and didn't look away from his phone,"Eat. We need to leave soon."

John opened the container for his food, though he glanced at the man with an eyebrow raised,"We?"

"Yes,"Sherlock reiterated, offering no other explanation.

"I'm not taking Rosie into a morgue," John stated plainly, picking out some rice.

Sherlock dropped his head back against the couch, his phone placed face down on his lap,"John, the bodies are inside coolers,"

John shook his head,"Not doing it," He picked up a forkful of beef, rice, carrots, and cashews and put it into his mouth.

"_Fine_," Sherlock huffed,"I'll watch her then,"

"Why do you need to go down there?" John hovered the hand with his fork over his mouth as he chewed,"I can go by myself, Sher,"

Sherlock's uppity attitude lessened and he finally turned off his phone,"I just need to test a few things,"

John prepared another bite, looking at Sherlock through his peripheral,"Does this have something to do with Molly?"

Sherlock turned his phone on and once again texts began flying out under speedy thumbs. John took another bite of his food, glancing at Rosie while she babbled and ate her own little portion on the floor.

"Has everything been okay with you two?" John asked.

"It's been Civil,"

John swallowed before speaking,"She came to visit, didn't she?"

"So did you." Sherlock replied, his tone taking on a cold feel.

John stared at him for a minute, and set his fork down to instead clasp his hands together,"I did."

Sherlock looked over the top of his phone, once again stilling his fingers.

"I'm ready to go Sherlock, and I can eat later. We need to talk about this."

Sherlock had a biting retort on the tip of his tongue, but Rosie began humming a song from the floor, bouncing on her knees energetically. He pushed the harsh words to the back of his mind. Instead, he stood himself up and fixed his shirt, uncuffing his sleeves.

"There's nothing to discuss, John. I spoke out of turn," For a flickering second, he met John's eyes, then looked back to his hand unrolling his sleeves,"My apologies. I'm going to change,"

Sherlock's dress shoes made little to no sound as he retreated from the room. Down the hall, his bedroom door opened and shut just as softly. John remained seated, his eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline out of sheer surprise. Seconds before, he had seen a rather souring look on Sherlock's face. Instead of a fight, he'd gotten something remarkable for a rather mundane situation; an apology for a fight that hadn't even begun.

John placed the lid on his food as he gazed at the spot where Sherlock had stood, wondering just how much they needed to talk about upon arriving home.


End file.
